Mothers Know Best
by irislim
Summary: The daughter of a knight, Miss Elizabeth is resolved to dislike her silly mother's newest suitor for her. Fitzwilliam Darcy, heir to Pemberley, is equally determined to reject any matchmaking endeavors targeting him. But who knew the other person would be this attractive? (Sample Only)
"Mother, it seems like I would have to express myself rather decisively about the matter." He paced forward until he stood by her side. "I will _not_ meet another lady whose mother wishes to attach her child to Pemberley."

"Well, isn't that rather silly, William?" Lady Anne, ever graceful, smiled up at her son. She took his hand affectionately, his large fingers between her gentle ones. "Not all ladies from London are as horrible as Miss Grace or Miss Lorraine. What if you _do_ like this one?"

"I'm afraid I have had enough poor experiences to warrant my hesitation, Mother." He sat down beside her, attentive and kind despite the subtle sigh. "After the debacles of raised hopes and broken friendships, I would wish not to take this path ever again."

"You shall not marry?"

"In God's time, I will." He lowered his head, frustration evident. "But would it not be much more preferable if things were to take their natural course?"

She knew her own smile was knowing – and that William rather detested it when she pressed him so. Still, what was a mother to do?

"What more natural way to meet a lady than at a ball?" She coaxed him gently.

William sighed again. He looked up at her from where he'd hunched over his knees, eyes pleading. "Would you have it that yet another young woman romp about London declaring your son a heartless flirt?"

"I quite believe that reputation has made you even _more_ desirable among the ladies." She gripped her son's hand with a smile. "And _I_ know for certain that your future wife shall be so blissfully loved by her husband that she would quite forget the worthless rumors."

"Mother, please – "

"No, it is decided," she responded firmly. "You shall attend tomorrow's ball with me, and you shall meet Miss Elizabeth."

He did not disguise his frown.

"You shall have every right to dislike her," she appeased, "and while I think her most becoming, you shall not be required to find her beautiful either."

He did not move when she stood.

"You are, however," she commanded, firm yet gentle, "to dance the supper set with her, and you shall endeavor to speak with her until you have made a thorough perusal of her character."

The frown on William's face was mostly displeasure – though it seemed to mingle with surprise.

"I shall be absolutely obstinate about this, child." Her words and face softened. "She is a most wonderful lady."

Silence reigned between mother and son for two long minutes.

Then William stood. "Is there no argument left to be had?"

"It is decided," she concluded. William's stubbornness was from her – that much she knew.

He viewed her warily, as if doubting his own mother. Her resolution was sustained only by her certainty that William would like _this_ one.

"I do not promise to like her," he argued still.

"I hold you to no such promise." Lady Anne smiled.

"And I shall not be tasked – to further the acquaintance beyond this ball."

"Not unless you wish of it."

William nodded, after one long moment of deliberation. "Very well."

The mother smiled, rather triumphant. "Shall we take ourselves to dinner?"

"Yes, Mother."

His elegant bow and offering of his arm, at least, proved him capable of acting the part of a gentleman despite any amount of irritation.

Such self-control, she hoped, boded well for the upcoming introduction.

Lady Anne smiled when they turned the corner.

Elizabeth was a fiery one – that much she could tell.

* * *

"Mama, that is the most _ridiculous_ idea I have ever heard!" Elizabeth insisted, planted firmly on the couch all the while. "I most distinctly shall _not_ marry a man whom I have never met merely because he shall inherit 10,000 pounds a year!"

"Oh, but you shall meet him, my dear," her mother assured while fanning herself quite comically. "The ball is tomorrow, and that new gown from the modiste shall be _perfect_ for the occasion."

"It is not an _occasion_ , Mama!" Elizabeth replied. Her brow furrowed. Who cared if the act was unbecoming? "There is no reason for me to attend a ball to which only you and Papa have been invited, and there is further no reason for me to meet a husband there."

"Pretty young women are never uninvited, Lizzy." Mama had never lacked for confidence. "And Lady Anne herself has insisted upon our attendance."

"Lady Anne Darcy?"

For a moment, Elizabeth refreshed her memory of the kind woman they had met at the modiste. Youthful and spirited, the matron had reminded her that not all people of nobility were utterly terrible.

"Yes, Lizzy, Lady Anne Darcy." Lady Bennet sounded quite exasperated. "It would not do for us to disappoint her."

Elizabeth sighed.

Her mother continued, undeterred, "After all, it is _her_ son we are to meet."

"The young Mr. Darcy?" Sir Thomas interrupted before Elizabeth could respond – or protest, for that matter. "Isn't he quite a rake, as we have heard?"

"Oh, but those rumors are most certainly false, Thomas." Lady Bennet protested entirely different things from her daughter. "How could a woman as wonderful as Lady Anne have a son that is not just as spectacular. He is to inherit 10,000 pounds a year!"

"And I'm sure those 10,000 pounds make him quite the most handsome man we'll ever meet," said Sir Thomas, smirk in place. "Women may have beauty that surpasses their accounts, but men shall only ever be as handsome as their income."

"A man _both_ handsome and rich?" Lydia spoke then, her neglected needlework officially tossed aside. "I would gladly have him if Lizzy does not."

"Yes, my dear, how I wish that could be," Lady Bennet lamented, quite affected, "but it was Lizzy that the great Lady saw, and I can't possibly bring another daughter in her place."

"You shall not bring me, Mama!" Elizabeth protested once again.

"Oh, but I shall."

"Papa!" Elizabeth turned to her other parent, the most reasonable head in the house apart from her own.

"I'm afraid it is quite decided, Lizzy," said Sir Thomas from behind his book. "If I were in your place, then I shall choose to blame Jane for having found a suitor. If it were not for Mr. Bingley, then I am certain you would not be the daughter currently patronized by your dear mother."

"See, Lizzy? Even your father agrees." Mrs. Bennet stood from her seat, pompously victorious. "And oh how wonderful it would be for you to become Mrs. Darcy!"

* * *

"Well, isn't this splendid? Fanciful ladies in all sorts of dresses making an entrance. Can't quite believe it's all in your honor, chap."

Darcy groaned under his breath. "It is _not_ in my honor, Richard. I advice you best keep your imaginations to yourself, lest you offend our hosts."

The Colonel laughed. "Oh, and what harm would that be? I'm sure the young lady herself would love to snag good old Fitzwilliam Darcy as her groom."

"Richard," he warned.

"William," the cousin retorted with a smile. "Come on, man, it _is_ possible to enjoy oneself in such company. You really ought to give it a try."

Feeling both amused and annoyed by his cousin, Darcy turned back to his former view. Though half-covered by the ostentatious drapes himself, he still maintained a perfect vantage point of the ballroom entrance.

After all, he couldn't afford to be caught by surprise.

As family after family poured into the ballroom, however, he never once saw anyone catching his eye. God forbid that any of these bedecked women were his mother's idea of a possible bride.

"Mr. Darcy." The greeting forced his attention away from the doors momentarily.

He turned. "Miss Grace."

His bow, like his greeting, was as succinct as could be. For two seconds, the lady waited. For two seconds, Darcy refused to acknowledge whatever the awkward silence was demanding of him.

"May I have the next dance, Miss Grace?" Richard chose to be his savior. Darcy almost smiled at the predictability of it all.

"Oh, yes, of course," Miss Grace faltered. "I - would be honored, Colonel."

All the three members bowed or curtsied before Miss Grace excused herself to leave something with her mother before the next set.

Darcy nearly laughed at the glare Richard sent his way once the woman was out of their sight.

"Are you seriously refusing to dance at all?" Richard pressed.

"I shall have to eventually," Darcy grumbled. He looked at his mother, who was speaking animatedly with her friends. "Even the most rebellious son can't refuse a mother who insists on social graces."

"You are an utter bore, Darce," the Colonel declared while shaking his head. "Heaven pity the woman you marry. She would be quite forlorn, that girl."

"If you truly think so, then I would hope you could talk to every ambitious mother in the room tonight. Persuade them, or dissuade them, about their ridiculous notions on marriage."

"You consider marrying you ridiculous?"

"If you can convince them of that as well, then I would be indebted for life."

The pause in music indicated the fast approach of the next set, and Richard took his leave.

Alone once again, Darcy resumed his surveillance. With the first set completed, it was probable that whomever his mother wished him to meet was already in the room.

He looked around at the sea of dull faces – faces whose charm could not be elevated by their accompanying colorful attires. Family, friends, and society had all tirelessly shoved these women into his attention, all to no avail. Would this be his future?

Would he one day simply – give up?

Discouraged by his own dark thoughts, he hopelessly turned one last time towards the entrance just when the announcement came, "Sir Thomas Bennet, Lady Frances Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

He stilled.

It wasn't unusual for the knight and his party to arrive late. He'd heard from Bingley that a knight had been late to the ball he hosted as well. The news had made Darcy glad that he hadn't been with Charles that day. The only thing worse than balls was prolonging them.

No, the knight's tardiness was not a marvel – nor was his silly wife, giggling in her bright blue ensemble.

The marvel was a pair of intelligent eyes on a beautiful face right beside them. It was the soft brown curls framing her face as she looked about the room. It was her smile, so warm and sincere, as she curtsied and apologized to their host for the night.

It was at that moment that Fitzwilliam Darcy lamented most fiercely that his mother had not chosen a woman like _that_ instead of one from the insipid ton.

Lost in admiration for the following few seconds, his next thought hurled him onto the ground like a soldier's left hook.

The girl was beautiful – there was no denying the fact. Yet he did not know her. There was no reason whatsoever that she would prove to be anything more than a silly young girl elevated merely by her father's knighthood.

That thought in and of itself turned Darcy away from his momentary hopes and towards his previous dourness.

"William, do come over."

His mother's voice had the rare ability to reach through a crowd without sounding coarse, loud, or in any way improper.

He had expected to marry someone with just as much grace as she.

Trapped in his current circumstances, however, he could only hope that the lady in question would be tolerable for the length of one supper.

* * *

"I am not going to marry Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth insisted, teeth clenched, as the carriage rolled along.

"Stop that nonsense, Elizabeth. You haven't even met the man!" came Lady Bennet's immediate reply.

The daughter lamented immediately that her younger sisters were not yet out, that Mary was ill, and that Jane was visiting Caroline Bingley. There was nothing, after all, more embarrassing that being the sole child present of the silliest woman in all of England.

"But I do not know him, Mama," she tried, however hopelessly. "Though I may promise one dance – and _only_ one – I do not intend to fall in love with him."

"You can fall in love with him _after_ the wedding, Lizzy. There's never been a question about – "

"There are few things in life worse than marrying without affection," Elizabeth instantly insisted, "and I refuse to ever allow that to happen to me."

"Oh, Sir! See how your daughter vexes me! My poor nerves!"

"'Tis a pity then that we forgot to bring your salts," the father replied. He looked at his wife across the carriage. "Do you wish for us to return home for them?"

"Oh no, Thomas! We are already late! This can't possibly make favorable impressions."

In the darkness of the carriage, it was Elizabeth that smiled at her father. He returned the smile - and she resolved, then and there, that she would never marry someone who didn't make her smile half as much as her father did.

* * *

"William, this is Lady Bennet, the wife of Sir Thomas; and this," Lady Anne pulled Elizabeth into full view, "is their daughter Elizabeth."

For a few seconds, Darcy found his world far happier than it had ever been since the first rumor of his supposed conquests had hit London society. His mother had an excellent eye, after all.

"My son, Fitzwilliam Darcy," his mother concluded.

Everyone bowed and curtsied as they should.

"Lady Bennet, Miss Bennet."

"Mr. Darcy."

"Mr. Darcy!"

Lady Bennet's loud voice surprised him.

Despite the stares so obviously directed at her, the woman continued, "We are _so_ happy to finally meet you. You see, sir, Elizabeth here has been out of sorts all day about tonight. Not everyone could have the honor of meeting – "

"A son who needs his mother to find a wife," Elizabeth interrupted – to his surprise.

The small party ceased all words and actions. Darcy doubted if he had actually heard her speak at all.

He looked directly at her energetic eyes. The grace he thought he had seen her possess upon her entrance had evolved into rigidity and anger upon closer inspection. "Miss Bennet, forgive me, has there been a misunderstanding?"

"Not at all," Elizabeth said then, almost glaring at him through her charged gaze. "My mother would be most delighted for me to make the acquaintance of a man whose reputation is so _colorful_ that I must at most make only a passing interest."

"Is a passing interest so horrible?"

"It all depends on whom the interested party happens to be."

"I would think it depends on the investment of the person who becomes the passing interest."

"There are attentions that are flattering, sir – but there are some which are not."

Her sharp words surprised – and wounded – him. His next statement came quickly. "And there are others who, being merely tolerable, should be happy they could suffice as a passing interest."

The sound of Lady Anne clearing her throat stopped both of them, and they glared in silence.

"William," his mother urged.

"Right." He recalled his duty. "Miss Elizabeth, may I have the honor to engage you for the supper set?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It would be my _pleasure_ , sir."

"Right. I shall collect you later."

He promptly bowed and stepped away.

* * *

 _Author's Note: The rest of this story - polished, updated, and repackaged - can be found on Amazon as Mothers Know Best by Iris Lim. Look there to find out how Darcy and Lizzy dig themselves out of this one! Thanks for reading!_


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